Millions
by silverarm
Summary: Character profile: Millions Knives. How much do we really know about his motivations? An ever-growing collection of vignettes about the genocidal plant from various perspectives. [
1. Millions: A pretentious introductory aut...

****

Millions: A pretentious, introductory author's note

  
  
Anyone who takes a brief look at my profile will quickly be able to tell that I haven't written any long, cohesive fanfiction. The reason for this is that I prefer Trigun as it was, originally, to any fan-created plots based off of it, and I've been afraid to make an addition that wouldn't do Yasuhiro Nightow's story justice.  
  
That being said, what follows is more of a series of vignettes than a story. However, that doesn't mean that they don't *tell* a story, for those willing to look. What I have attempted is to use a variety of short scenes and monologues to describe one central character in as many different perspectives as Trigun offers in the course of the anime and manga. The only real invention on my part comes from what I believe to be a logical extension of the plot given the characters and their motivations, etc...  
  
So, why Millions Knives? Frankly, because of the impact his character has on the plot of Trigun, despite the fact that he receives less actual screen time than many one-shot, throw-away characters. There is a great deal about his personality that a viewer tends to overlook, and if not careful, we may think of him as a one-dimensional villain. I hope to prove this perception wrong with what follows.  
  
Oh, and here's the usual catch-all disclaimer: I own neither the anime nor the manga versions of Trigun, nor am I the owner of the characters. Deepest apologies to Yasuhiro Nightow, who owns them all.

  
  
Thanks for your patience; now on to Millions... 

~Silverarm~


	2. Ivory Tower: prose

He just doesn't understand. How utterly frustrating.  
  
Such an understatement could not possibly convey the vexation of my brother's foolishness, yet I try to describe it nonetheless. If only I could make him see them for what they really are: worthless and inconsequential in the grand scheme of things. Why can't he understand that its worthless trying to change the violent natures of these creatures, these "human beings," whose actions are base and instinctual in the extreme? His vision is clouded; it was obscured in our childhood, and he simply never learned to see things as they are. Pointless idealism, what has it ever done for the world? What did it ever do for humanity? It couldn't save Rem, it couldn't save the rest of the crew, it utterly destroyed Earth. Idealism was part of the great undoing of that lesser species, and from a high vantage I can understand that and not make the same mistakes. He doesn't understand that we're not like humans, their flaws and their follies don't need to be ours. We are plants, but we can make our own decisions and choose not to be humanity's pawns or servants any longer. We can rise above all that. We can live our lives free of the tainted influence of a species marked for extinction (And not merely by me. The sum and breadth of human existence has been one step after the other toward oblivion, from their wars and their weapons and their inability to see consequences until the point of no return had been surpassed). We, he and I, two brothers together, no longer alone. He seeks their companionship because he does not have his brother. I lock myself away in this ivory tower because I do not have Vash at my side. Why can't he understand that all I really want is for us to be together again as we were in childhood, but this time without humanity around to ruin that perfection? It was humanity that tore us apart, their violence and their flawed logic and their base fear of anything that could not fit a narrow, lesser mindframe. Without humanity, we can simply be as we were meant to be.  
  
I don't want to be apart from him any longer. I just want to show him what this world could be like. I want him to understand and come back to me.  
  
I only want Eden. 


	3. Forgiveness: poem

I am struck by the realization of my false reasoning  
  
The cause for misfortune which rests in my arms  
  
Arms which destroy abruptly, coarsely, wickedly  
  
What is good and pure in this world  
  
That which was yet unfouled I have tainted through schemes  
  
And now the purity of souls is tarnished irrevocably  
  
Fear me, I am the bringer of death and destruction  
  
The angel of death whose wings shroud the sun  
  
Fear the angel whose reasoning has slaughtered virtue in my brother  
  
Corrupted minds and tainted souls  
  
Ended lives in a sharp cacophony of chaos like the falling  
  
Of millions of feathers that covered us in darkness  
  
I am no angel  
  
And now I realize what he told me was truth divine  
  
Too wise beyond his years in childhood, I scoffed  
  
But now I see.  
  
Brother, can you ever forgive me? 


	4. Endgame: prose

Fool.  
  
He thinks he can lock me away like some caged animal and make the world safe. Doesn't he know by now that I am not something that can be contained through ordinary mortal forces? I'm a plant, godlike to those puerile pieces of garbage whose filth cannot be tolerated any longer. He should have killed me when he had the chance, at the climax, instead of wrapping me up and nursing me back to health like a baby bird. Dead, he could be rid of me. But, left alive, I will not rest until humanity is eliminated, and even my own brother will not be able to prevent the endgame. Humanity calls out for Armaggedeon, and I'm only to happy to clean up the garbage.  
  
In the heat of the battle, I came to realize that he'll never see the world like I do. He's been ruined completely by that wretch of a human, Rem Saverem, and there's no undoing the psychological scars. He's of no use to me now, and sooner or later I'll have to kill him to reach my goals. Extermination of the spiders: one butterfly casualty is not too much to ask to achieve it.   
  
So I lay here, healing, and biding my time. He comes to me with his false bravado and his cheerful smile and brings food and medicine. He introduces me to those worthless human females who he allows to tail him; he calls them friends! I call them the walking dead, for as soon as I'm strong enough they'll be gone. But, first, eliminate Vash and all real opposition. Humanity can wait just a little while longer.  
  
Just try to reform me, brother. Heal my wounds. And after you have eased this pain, I will ease yours. Permanently. 


	5. Youthful Idealism: prose Manga inspired

He used to stand there for hours. Knives, I mean. Staring at those sleep capsules as though they were the most captivating sight he'd ever seen; maybe they were.  
  
When we were kids, there wasn't a whole lot to do on the ship other than talk and play simple sorts of games: chess and so on. So when Knives first invented the new game, we'd play it non-stop. We'd stand outside the glass barrier leading to the cold sleep room and pick a person in one of the capsules. Didn't really matter who. And we'd invent a little story about them, who they were back on Earth, who their friends and family were, and what they did. It was the greatest game, and sometimes we didn't need to be together to play it. I'd catch Knives wandering off to the glass barrier to stare and play alone in his mind. We never got tired of that game.  
  
There was one girl in particular that Knives preferred to watch, a young girl who looked about our age. Well, she obviously wasn't our age, instead much older, but that didn't change things in our eyes. Knives made up all kinds of little stories about her, how she loved chess and tea and the smell of grass when the sun was high in the afternoon sky. She was an only child, and very lonely, so naturally she'd love to play with us when she woke up.   
  
If you'd known Knives then, you'd understand why I want to save him. Why I need to. He wasn't born hating, and he doesn't need to die hating either. There was a time in our distant pasts when he loved humanity with more honest, innocent compassion than even I could comprehend. I worried if that girl could ever accept us when she woke, and I worried that she might hate us for what we were. But not Knives, ever. He knew that deep down we were all the same.  
  
And it doesn't have to be like it has been for the past decades, Knives. I know you've closed your heart to them, and I know you think we could never live in peace. But you used to understand so well, and I know that if you just give them a chance you'll see that we're not so different at all. You were right, Knives. We really are all the same.


	6. Alone: prose

I don't want to be alone...  
  
There's a thought I had today, lying alone and wounded in this bed, in a silent room, in a house built by human scum. What if I can't make Vash understand?  
  
I must confess, until that point I had not given up hope that my brother would regain his senses and realize that humanity was beyond saving. That they must succomb to the laws of evolution which state that the imperfect will be replaced by those better adapted to survive. Humans are maladapted, they are flawed and weak, and it has only been luck that has carried them thus far. Luck and the blood of our people. When our paths first parted out in the sandy deserts of this prison planet, I knew Vash would realize this eventually. After a few years with their worthless kind, he would accept humanity's fate and seek out my company once again. I would take no action against the vermin until Vash realized this truth for himself.  
  
But over eighty years passed, and there was no such epiphany. It was as though he walked about this planet with his eyes clamped tightly shut and his fingers stuck into his ears, humming loudly to block out the evidence surrounding him. The fighting, the wars. The scars of human hatred lining his godlike plant body. How could he not see homo sapiens in a truthful light?  
  
I attributed it to the lasting memory of Rem on this planet. So it was erradicated. In July, I exterminated the last scion of that, the imperfect line of Rem Saverem on this world. But it was not enough: and he even turned his gun on me. Me, of all people! His own brother, flesh and blood! I knew then that time alone could not teach Vash the truth.  
  
So the next plan was put into action. But in my heed to teach him the truth, I was too harsh: I realize that now. How it pained me to see him suffer so, how I longed simply to go to him and explain in words that I bore no hatred for him nor had I ever. This was merely a lesson, and once it was all over, we could be at peace once again. At peace with our own kind in Eden. But if there is one thing about my brother that I know for certain, it is that Vash has a put up a barrier against my words. When I speak, I might as well emit nonsensical syllables for all that he takes heed of me. No, he has never listened to me the way that he listened to that wretched Rem Saverem.  
  
And so words have failed me. And now, too, has action. I begin to suspect that there will be no saving Vash from the permanent damage that has been inflicted on him by that bloodthirsty race. He will forever stand between me and my goals, between myself and the cleansing of this planet. But, what then, I have to wonder: with Vash gone, the planet will be empty except for my brethren trapped in their bulbous prisons... and they have long ceased speaking with me. And they, like my brother, have never listened.  
  
Is this true, I wonder. Millions Knives second-guessing himself and his ultimate plan? No, no, this cannot be. I merely have not yet seen the acceptable course of action that will lead Vash back to my side once again. Still, the possibility exists, that vague probability that I will be forever trapped, exiled, on this deserted planet without a soul to communicate with. Vash, why do you torment me so? With your adament refusal to accept the truth, why do you punish me?  
  
I don't want to be alone. 


	7. Utterly Sane Madman: prose

I watched that final battle from a distant vantage, disembodied and drifting.  
  
And how would you expect me to watch it? I was dead.  
  
After my final confession, I had expected my soul to immediately ascend to heaven or plummit to hell. But the Lord had other plans. Some things had to be finished before others could begin.  
  
My soul had been inexplicably bound to theirs since childhood, though I didn't realize it for a long, long time. But the day that Knives visited the orphanage with his ultimatum, some things were brought into sharp focus. There is no escaping destiny.  
  
I was there in the oasis, watching Knives sip his wine like an aristocrat. Made my blood boil. Villains have no right to that kind of peace and serenity, and certainly not the blonde-haired devil himself. The term "sinner" was coined specifically as a description for Millions Knives. It had to have been. He was the epitome of pure, unadulterated evil. A demon through and through.  
  
What was it about Knives that struck me as most odd when I met him for the first time? He permeated ill-will. Oozed it from every pore. And yet the composure never broke, never faltered for a minute. He remained straight-faced while discussing the fates of the orphans, should I choose to resist. Never flinched once as he spoke of how I would be rewarded for my obedience. If I chose obedience, I chose life. What other choice was there?  
  
And once I was employed in his service, I saw him a few other times in person. He would not look you in the eye. He looked through your eyes, daring you to have the audacity to maintain contact. And as much of a rebel as I've always been, there was no power in heaven that could compel me to meet his piercing, blue-eyed gaze. I would sooner have thrown myself down a canyon. Knives's was the authority of a completely and utterly sane madman. Reason drove him to madness. He would not hesitate to slaughter me if I had not proven a useful servant.  
  
Do I hate Millions Knives? Yes, there is no question. Do I wish him dead? With every fiber of my spirit, yes. And although I wondered whether Vash would have the courage to eliminate his brother, I should have known all along that he wouldn't. And the enemy lives on, and humanity is still threated by his presence.  
  
But it isn't my problem any more. If there is one thing this dead man has earned, it is rest.  
  
May God protect you, Vash the Stampede. I hope you know what you're doing, because I don't. 


	8. Grieving Process: prose Manga inspired

The day we discovered Tessla's dismembered remains, something snapped inside of my brother's head. From the outside, you'd never know that anything had happened at all: life on the SEEDS ship carried on just the same as it ever had. Rem and Knives and I followed the same routines, played the same games, ate the same meals, and pretended that none of it had ever happened. I was never such a great actor, though, and there were times when I would hide myself away in the farthest corner of the ship and collapse into uncontrollable sobs. How could they do that to a little girl? My sister? How could they dissect her like a science experiment? The sound would echo through the corridors, and inevitably Knives would find my hiding place. He'd speak in soothing tones about how we were safe, that it was all in the past, and that it would never happen again.

I didn't find it odd that Knives never shed a tear. He was always a lot stronger than me; he always knew what to do when there was trouble. While my confidence in humanity wavered, his stood firm against all assaults…

…Or so we believed.

At the time, I didn't notice Knives acting any differently after the horrible discovery. But I should have. I'm certain that Rem saw it: since that day, she walked on eggshells around Knives. I figured that she was just feeling guilty about what had happened to Tessla and what she'd tried to hide from us, but then she never acted that way around me. Rem was our mother, and she knew that something was wrong.

Knives never went through a grieving process. He didn't cry about it. He never mentioned it in any context…he never got closure. But, he stopped visiting the barrier to the cold sleep capsules. I didn't think anything of this at the time because I went less frequently as well, but the "game" had always meant a lot more to my brother than it had to me. It was his own little invention and diversion, and nothing but the greatest mental anguish would have stopped him from visiting the little girl in the capsule.

I should have seen it.

I should have recognized the tone of his voice when he assured me it would "never happen again." I should have recognized the finality of that statement and the decision he had already made.

I should have stopped it.

But by the time I realized how much pain Knives had been in, Rem was lost forever.


End file.
